Magazine Posts

The life we led is with us still,
Encumbered by much angst and ill will.
What do we do, at this point in time,
Is pour a glass of red or white wine.

Some say it is a talent that I've got.
Others might say my talent is naught.
Full of flaws, that are open to see
Except the love for my family.

Pictures, pictures, everywhere.
I don't know the names
And I don't care.
The pictures are old and unique.
I'm sure that they are an antique.
I don't know who they are
Or if they're related to me.
I just know that there are old as can be.

Hearing the noisy clacking of a beak,
I look up at the Fir tree,
Into the branches, then I see
A big Crow, looking down at me.
Feed me, he caws, from up above.
I need to eat and I love
Sitting in the trees, making my sound,
Seeing you put peanuts onto the ground.

In the daylight hours,
I wait for you.
In the midnight hour
I will be with you,
For life's sweet and sour
Moments are drawing near,
As I watch you
Slowly disappear.

Valentine Day is coming.
To dinner we will go.
I promise you no singing,
For you and I both know,
This might be last, in this life,
To dine out as man and wife.
I love you my beautiful one
And will always stay with you,
Until this life is done.

I have so little time to write
That I grab any moment I can.
Not the most favorable of settings,
But most certainly is better than
Not writing at all. Please understand.

You say, I need to go away
To a place where I can stay.
It's not fair for you, she cried.
I said, No, I'll stay by your side
Until there is no more night or day.
I'll be with you, all the way.

She cried tonight and then did say,
Don't want my friends to see me this way.
That becomes hard for me to emote
When I feel hands around my throat.
The anguish that's felt, I can't write down
My heart is breaking as I look around
And see our friends and family.
I hate this part of life's finality.

Was I lost and have now been found
Or was it something less profound?
Who is to say? Certainly not me,
For on today my mind runs free.

There sat a small bird.
I'll call him Fred.
No chirping songs heard.
Hopping around on the deck,
Seeing something; making a peck.
Got my sack of seed,
Scattered some on wooden planks.
After awhile Fred is back,
Looking at me and my sack
Of bird feed, held in hand,
Acting like he is now
in his own promised land.

Don't yell at me, I won't succumb.
I'm not stupid nor am I dumb.
My frustration, when I try to speak:
Can't remember, doesn't make me weak.
My mind won't connect. I can't say,
How I feel about this day.
So don't lose your patience, not with me,
I'm doing the best I can, for thee.